Tequila Sunrise
by SummerLove16
Summary: Although she swore she would never be "that" girl, Bella finds herself hot for teacher over her History Professor. There's something about his accent...
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! SO, this is my first ever Twilight Fanfic...most exciting (for me, anyways!). I look forward to hearing what you guys think, so please let me know!

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BPOV

I ran one hand through my long, glossy brown hair, tugging it over one shoulder.

"Heads up!"

Alice tossed her peach coloured lip gloss at me, hardly looking up from her psychology text book. She was sprawled across my bed, the bright red of her top clashing hideously with my blue and green bedspread.

"Alice, honestly. This is school, nobody cares what I look like."

She rolled her eyes, tapping manicured fingernails on the hardcover of the textbook.

"Bella...YOU should care what you look like. Besides, it's the first day of the new semester. Put that on, you'll be gorgeous. And maybe you'll even find a boyfriend this semester. And anyways, pretty people get better grades anyways. It's scientifically proven."

"Yeah, but only because they're sleeping with their professors!"

I scoffed, glaring at her. She winked at me, snickering to herself. I sighed, slicking my lips as I buttoned my coat.

"Are you ready to go? I'm pretty sure even pretty people get bad grades if they're late."

She nodded, flinging herself off the bed.

"Yeah. Are we meeting up with Rose after?"

She checked her blackberry,

"Haven't heard from her. What class do you have?"

"Ummm...History of the Russian Revolution. With Professor Edward Masen."

She shook her head,

"Jesus, Bells. You're such a dork."

"Whatever, Ms. Psycho."

Alice laughed, high and free.

"Just you wait. One day, when all the fucked up shit that's gone down in the world gets to you, you'll pay me for my services, Ms. Swan."

I rolled my eyes, sliding my feet into the heels Alice had insisted I needed this semester. Part of the "new look" she had given me, along with brightly coloured tops, dark jeans and a flat iron.

... ...

We walked to class in the fading September sun, the chill of fall just beginning to take hold. I was wearing my favourite skirt, navy blue with tiny white flowers on it, hitting just above my knees, and as the breeze played with our hair, I was glad. It would be too cold to wear it soon.

"Alright, I'm headed across campus. I'll see you later!"

Alice ran her hand down my arm as she skipped away down the sidewalk. I sighed, tugging my shirt down over my skirt. I was so excited for this class. I'd heard good things about Professor Masen, and the Russian Revolution was one of my favourite topics in history. Butterflies danced in my stomach as I walked into the classroom and sat down, pulling out the textbook for the class. The cover was glossy red, and I ran my fingers over the binding. My classmates were an interesting crowd. Boys in the back who were looking for an easy pass, the girl in the corner was a perfectionist—she'd get an A without even trying. And the boy on my left, his green dreadlocks bouncing as he scribbled messily with a pencil on a piece of paper, he was smart, but also a smart ass. I snickered as I realized he was drawing the anarchy symbol over and over on his paper. Jesus.

My internal reverie was interrupted when the most beautiful man I had ever seen walked into the room. His hair was mussed, as if he had just thoroughly fucked some woman. Lucky bitch. Along with the bedhead, his hair was the most unusual shade of copper. Not red, but not truly brown either. His features were strong, chiselled, and probably perfectly proportioned. This was probably what Alice was referring to when she talked about divine proportions. He looked like something divine...I waited for him to take a seat. Preferably next to me. Instead, he walked to the front, and began arranging his papers on the podium. His lecture notes. Because, holy fuck, this man, this divine creature, was my professor.

He surveyed the class, and I inhaled sharply. His eyes were a brilliant, glassy green. He looked at me, and I immediately felt like I was drowning. Somehow, I smiled, and he looked away quickly, without returning my smile. I tried not to be disappointed. He was, after all, my professor. And, as I had pointed out to Alice earlier, only pretty people slept with their professors. But if ever there was a man worth sacrificing my values for...

"Good afternoon, everybody. Welcome to the History of the Russian Revolution."

Holy fuck. I bit down on my lip, drawing blood, at the sound of his voice. His accent, albeit soft, was distinctly Russian, and quite possibly the sexiest thing I'd ever heard. He continued to speak, but I was lost in the way the words left his mouth. It wasn't until the anarchist with the dreadlocks to my left spoke, breaking the spell, that I snapped back to attention.

"Where're you from?"

A blush lit his cheeks. Was he embarrassed by his accent? He shouldn't be. Rather, he should speak more. To me. And preferably dirty...

"I'm originally from Russia."

Then the dumbass boys in the back chimed in,

"So, are you all commie and shit?"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, looking up at him, waiting for his reply. His eyes darkened as he looked at me, but he didn't say anything. He seemed lost for words.

"I...uh..."

Finally, the anarchist piped up,

"The Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, dumbass."

The class laughed. He looked away, laughing with the class, and continued with his lecture, but his hands were shaking. By the time we reached the end of the class I hadn't learned anything. I had, however, developed wet panties and a massive crush on Professor Edward Masen.

"And that brings us to the end of our class. Any questions?"

I raised my hand, feeling unusually brave. I could feel electricity tingle through me as he looked at me with those eyes, nodding.

"Do you prefer Edward, or Professor Masen?"

My voice came out much smoother and more liquid than it normally did. He choked, the blush rising in his cheeks again, but recovered quickly.

"I...either. Either is fine."

I nodded, biting my lip. The rest of the class began to file out. I buttoned my coat slowly, tossing my hair over my shoulder. As I went to leave, Edward handed me the course outline with shaking fingers. I took it, glancing over it.

"Thanks...Professor Masen."

He inhaled slowly. I smiled, but walked out of the classroom without looking back. It was going to be a long semester. I doubted Alice had meant a prof when she said I needed a boyfriend.

... ... ... ...

Alice and Rose were already seated at the bar when I arrived. The bar was small, out of the way, and usually not too busy. Just off campus, and yet we rarely saw anyone from school here. Rose had her long, blonde hair French braided, her turquoise cashmere sweater bringing out the vibrant blue of her eyes.

"Hey Bells. How was the first day of classes?"

I shrugged,

"It was...good."

Alice looked at me, her eyes dancing with excitement,

"Did you meet somebody?"

Rosalie silently handed me a martini as I prepared for Alice's barrage. She was scarily intuitive, and while it was nice to have somebody know you inside out, sometimes it was annoying as all fuck.

"No. Just class, Ali."

Alice narrowed her eyes,

"Mmm, no. Not JUST class. Something happened."

I shrugged,

"My prof is..."

Is what? Practically a god? I'm about to become one of those slutty, sorority girls who attempts to seduce her prof for an A? Only...I don't even want the A. Damn it. I had already revealed too much to stop speaking.

"My prof...is incredible."

I finished slowly, almost hesitantly. This time Rose narrowed her eyes, stirring her drink with the straw, mixing the grenadine and orange juice together. She was the only person I had ever known to graduate from a Shirley Temple to a Tequila Sunrise and still manage to appear adult.

"Wait, incredible like...an excellent teacher, or incredible like gorgeous?"

Definitely like gorgeous. I had no idea what kind of a teacher he was. His accent was too damn distracting for me to listen to what he was saying. I bit my lip,

"I guess like gorgeous."

Alice squealed, her voice higher than normal when she spoke,

"OH MY GOD! Bella's hot for teacher! Are you gonna make a move? What's he like?"

I shook my head,

"Of course not! I'm not the girl who's screwing the prof, you guys. He's...gorgeous. Green eyes, just...totally stunning. And Russian. He has an accent."

Rosalie laughed.

"Good lord. You're getting a wetty over his accent? You're too funny, Bella."

I swallowed the rest of my martini in one gulp, grimacing at the burn of the liquor.

"What can I say? I'm an odd duck, I guess. But daaaaaaamn..."

Alice laughed, ordering us another round. I snatched my drink up quickly. What I really needed to do tonight was get drunk, and forge t about Professor Masen.

... ... ...

Well...there you have it kids. Edward's POV up next. (: What kind of accent makes you weak in the knees?


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guys! I wasn't going to continue this story...but then I got some lovely, LOVELY reviews, and they made me so excited I wanted to keep writing. My favourite accent? Russian by far. DEAD SEXY.

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EPOV

I sighed, pulling my shoulders up and dropping them down, trying to relieve some of the tension in my neck. The first day of the new semester was always a challenge. Tanya placed one hand on my shoulder, her fingers cool through my button down shirt as I straightened my tie.

"It's going to be fine, Edward."

I nodded, pouring cream into my coffee. I had fallen in love with Tanya working on my Masters degree in the USA. She was Russian as well, her accent as rich and complex as my own, caressing her words. The first time we made love, she whispered words in Russian to me, the siren call of my homeland echoing through my veins as our bodies slid together. Now, a PhD and years of teaching later, I didn't know where our love had gone.

"I know. I'm just..."

"Nervous. I know. I know how you get about speaking in front of a crowd."

I nodded. My words weren't even necessary, Tanya knew me inside out. I was nervous. I didn't live to teach. Rather, I lived for the research grants that would send me spiralling back into the complex world of historical fact and mystery. Teaching made me anxious.

"You'll be terrific. You always are, love."

She kissed my cheek, leaving a smudge of lipstick, and trotted down the hall to her own office, four doors down from mine. Her heels clicked against the tile floor. She taught English (ironic, if you ask me), and brought the same fire to her teaching as she brought to everything. Despite her accent, she never seemed to be uncomfortable in front of her class. Rather, her passion for the classical literature simply became more pronounced. I envied Tanya. More than anything, though, I wished I knew where our love had gone.

... ... ...

The classroom was already beginning to fill when I arrived. In my head, I profiled the students as I arranged the course outlines and my lecture notes on the podium. The two boys in the back, their hoods up and sunglasses on, wouldn't attend after the third class. The girl with the braids would expect an A, but would never speak in class. The boy with the dreadlocks would have a smart mouth, leftist views and would harass me during my office hours. And the girl in the front...I stared silently as she lifted her eyes from the page in her notebook and smiled at me, feeling a bolt of electricity rush through my veins. I had no idea how to profile her. I looked away, but my hands were shaking as I finished setting up.

"Good afternoon, everybody. Welcome to History of the Russian Revolution."

The boys in the back were still talking to each other. I cleared my throat, glancing around the room.

"This semester we're going to examine the roots of the Revolution, Lenin, the Civil War and Stalin's rise to power. The outlines are here."

I gestured to the podium,

"Please pick one up on your way out. My name is Edward Masen. I've been a professor for four years. I have a PhD in European History, and—"

"Where're you from?"

Dreadlocks demanded, thrusting his hand into the air. I felt the blush rise in my cheeks,

"I'm originally from Russia."

He snickered.

"So, are you all commie and shit?"

One of the sunglasses boys demanded, looking up from the laptop he had pulled out while I was speaking. The girl in the front row, her long dark hair tossed over one shoulder, rolled her eyes, biting her lip to keep from laughing as she looked up at me from beneath her eyelashes. Waiting for a response. But looking into her eyes, I was suddenly lost.

"I...uh..."

Dreadlocks turned around, scoffing under his breath,

"The Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, dumbass."

The class laughed, and I laughed with them, thankful for the distraction. Because she, this girl sitting in the front row of my class, was a student, and affairs with students were forbidden. Strictly forbidden. Besides, I could never do that to Tanya.

These were the arguments that echoed through my head that first day. But they sounded hollow, even to me.

...

I pulled out of the parking lot tailing Tanya, my Ferrari 599 GTB tailing smoothly after Tanya's BMW. We drove separately to school. Sometimes, especially late in the semester, I found myself in my office until five or six am, a bottle of red wine on my desk as I tried to finish the marking. Because we had never had children, our lives were filled with luxury—fancy cars, and we lived in a million dollar house. But I would trade all of it to go back to those first days in New York with her.

_2005_

_I tugged at my tie, tight around my neck. The hall, despite its vastness, was stuffy compared to the evening air. The painted ceiling and nineteenth century architecture made this hall incredible, and the newly added wall of windows let the fading light seep in from outside. I took another glass of champagne off the tray offered to me by a young server. The stage was being set for the speech I was supposed to give as a member of the History Graduate Committee, dedicating this hall to the memory of Petyor Zaitsev. I'd never met Petyor, and honestly didn't know much about him, except for the fact that he had donated millions of dollars to the university. And he too had hailed from Russia, which was the reasoning for putting me in charge of this speech. I pulled at my tie again, struggling to maintain composure. I hated events like this. I always had. _

_ "You doing okay, handsome?"_

_The Russian accent, so familiar to me, and yet so out of place here caught me off guard. I turned, gulping the rest of my drink. The woman who had spoken was sitting on the edge of one of the banquet tables, swinging her legs, her heels in one of her hands. She was smoking, despite the sign above her head blatantly proclaiming that smoking was not allowed. I nodded slowly, taking her in, all long, glossy blonde curls and wide, blue eyes._

_ "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."_

_She laughed, and she sounded so free, so exhilarated in those few seconds that I finally managed to catch the breath I had been trying to catch._

"_You don't seem good, handsome. You seem nervous. Are you supposed to give a speech or something?"_

_Tanya's intuition startled me. I nodded,_

_ "Yes. On behalf of the History Graduate Committee."_

_She smiled,_

_ "Ah yes. You're Edward Masen. The Russian. Me too."_

_She winked, hopping down off the table, not bothering to put her shoes back on._

_ "Tanya. Tanya Denali."_

_She extended one slender hand to me, and I felt the sparkle of electricity travel up my arm as we touched._

_ "Your speech is going to wonderful,"_

_She murmured, pressing against me lightly, the black satin of her dress sliding against my dress shirt,_

_ "I'll meet you outside afterwards."_

_When I met her outside, still shaking from my speech, she kissed me, still barefoot, in the late summer night._

I parked behind Tanya outside the restaurant. Tanya got out of the car, her heels clicking on the sidewalk as we walked inside. As I looked into her eyes that night, I had trouble focussing on the blue, instead of imagining a deep, rich brown.

... ... ... ...

Well, there's a little background on Edward...I find him to be much easier to write. Let me know what you think, yes? Also, favourite eye colour on a significant other?


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! Truly, that is what makes this worth writing. (: My favourite eye colour on a significant other is brown...I think because I'm not usually a fan of blondes (although I am proudly blonde myself!).

Keep up the lovely reviews! (: I love hearing what you think!

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BPOV

I didn't get drunk that night. Instead, hours after Rosalie had dropped Alice and I off at our apartment, I sat on the windowsill in my bedroom, looking out at the pouring rain. The windowsills in this apartment were by far my favourite feature. They were just wide enough to sit on with a cushion to look out into the night. On occasion, Alice and I would share a joint sitting on the windowsill, blowing the smoke out the window into the chilly night. But Alice had gone to bed hours ago, and I still couldn't sleep.

Porcelain by Moby played softly on my Ipod, adding to my mood as I contemplated my attraction to Edward. If the look on his face had been any indication, he didn't mind being called Professor Masen, but in my head he was Edward. It just felt right. The downside was that I also knew this was more than a crush. I was inexplicably drawn to him, on a far deeper level than just a crush. My cell buzzed on the hulking desk that had come with my room, now sitting adjacent to the window sill. My thoughts interrupted, I leaned over and grabbed it.

_Hey Baby girl, how you doing?_

It was from Jake. I smiled, sliding my phone open to type a reply. I had known Jacob for years. Although he was five years my senior, we had dated for a year and a half when I was fifteen. Now, we were just friends, and he still knew me better than anybody else.

_Hey Jake. I'm...good. Contemplating. How's the snow?_

Jacob attended the University of Toronto. Why anyone would choose to go over the border to be in the snow was beyond me, but Jake loved it. I, on the other hand, along with Alice and Rosalie, was perfectly content at Stanford, located in northern California, where it got cold, but didn't snow. Growing up in Forks, we had all had enough of the slushy, wet snow. And the rain. Summertime was for getting a tan, not getting paler as a result of all the hours spent forcibly inside. My phone buzzed again.

_Contemplating what? The snow's fantastic. I hit my roommates bitch of a girlfriend with a snowball today. Doesn't get much better than that._

I laughed. Of course Jake would hit his roommates girlfriend with a snowball. I'd met her once, visiting Jake. Leah was incredibly pretty, but she also exploited poor Sam mercilessly. Jake wanted no part in their relationship—except, I gathered, the snowball throwing part. I snickered,

_Oh yeah? And how does she feel about that? I'm contemplating...well, it's kind of a long story. _

When my phone buzzed again, it continued to buzz. I hit the green button, and pressed it to my ear,

"Hey Jake."

"Hey, sweetheart. Damn it's good to hear your voice. What's up?"

I sighed, hesitating.

"I...there's this professor. He's incredible...but...it's more than that. I feel...drawn to him. Like..."

_Like we're meant to be. _I trailed off.

"You mean you have a crush on your prof?"

"I guess so. But deeper."

I could hear Jake rustling around on the other end before he answered,

"Well, Bells, here's the thing: You get caught sleeping with him, or he gets caught sleeping with you, and he'll lose his job. Is he married?"

I realized I didn't know. I pulled my laptop off the desk, balancing my phone precariously between my shoulder and my ear as I turned it on.

"I dunno. I can check, hold on."

As I typed Edward's name into the search bar, I felt my stomach clench. Jacob waited patiently, silently, while I looked. My heart ached as photos of Edward with his wife flashed across the screen. She was incredibly beautiful, all wideset blue eyes, and long, glossy blonde hair. They looked like they were meant to be together. And I didn't fit into that picture.

"Yeah...yeah, he is."

I was choking on my words. Jake sighed in sympathy.

"Okay. So, you know the downsides to getting with your prof, then."

"Yeah, he'll lose his job, his marriage, everything...not to mention how much older he is than me..."

Jake laughed at that. My father had never approved of our relationship. I could hear him now, echoing in my head _That damn boy should get a girlfriend his own damn age, Isabella! Not prey on my helpless little girl!_

"You've always dated up, Bells. I wouldn't worry about your age. Just...don't do anything stupid, okay?"

I nodded, even though I knew Jake couldn't see me.

"It's gonna work out, baby girl. You never know, maybe he's having this same conversation at home tonight, debating the pros and cons of sleeping with a student."

"With who, his wife? Fuck."

Jake sighed,

"It's going to be fine, Bells. It'll work out, you'll see. Just don't do anything rash, okay?"

There was some muffled noise in the background,

"Ah shit. Sam and Leah are home...I gotta go. But I love you, Bells. We'll chat soon, yes?"

"Yeah. I love you too, Jake."

"And remember, nothing rash..."

I placed the phone on my desk and climbed into bed. My sleep that night was restless, filled with dreams about a green eyed, bronze haired man. Everytime I got close to him, though, his face was blank.

... ... .. ... ... ... ...

I wanted to meet Tanya. I wanted there to be something about her—an irritating laugh or crooked teeth that would make me feel better about Edward's marriage to this angelically beautiful woman. This was exactly what Jacob had meant by rash. Instinctively, I knew that as I walked down the hallway towards her office. I wanted to meet the woman who had my...my nothing. I had no claim to Edward, besides the heartwrenching pull of electricity between us. She wasn't even my competition. There was no competition. The wife won hands down, every time. My rational brain tried to talk me out of going to see Tanya. What would I say to her? I didn't know her. Didn't have her as a professor. But her office was right down the hall from Edward's, where the History and English departments merged. Jesus, could they be any more gag-worthily disgusting?

Alice hadn't said anything when I slipped out of the apartment this morning, dressed to kill, determination written in my eyes. Part of her scarily intuitive sense, I guess.

"Have a good morning."

Was all she said, as she sliced a grapefruit in half. Thank God Alice hadn't questioned me further. I just needed to get this over with. To meet his beautiful wife, so that I could move on.

My heels clicked against the floor as I reached Tanya's office. _Tanya Denali, Professor, PhD _the gold plaque on the door read. I felt inexplicably nervous. There was movement behind the door, I could hear the rustle of papers. I raised on hand and knocked softly as I turned the cool steel of the door handle and opened the door.

"Oh FUCK!"

My eyes widened in horror as I took in the scene in Tanya's office. Her PhD diploma hung in a frame on the wall, catching the early morning light from the large bank of windows, which inexplicably, the curtains hadn't been drawn over. The one and only office plant was wilted on one of the shelves. A picture of Tanya and Edward lay on the floor, where it had obviously fallen off the desk. Tanya's wedding band lay on the very corner of her desk, precariously balanced and symbolically about to fall onto the ground along with the photo. Tanya herself lay spread across her desk, her skirt pushed up around her hips, as James Gigandet, the Dean of the History Department fucked her, his long hair swinging with each thrust. His cheeks were flushed, and darkened even more as he saw me in the doorway. Tanya was too lost in the moment, her eyes closed, her hair mussed from rubbing against the desk.

"T-Tanya..."

James grunted, gesturing at me as he fumbled to pull his pants up. She turned to look at me, her blue eyes suddenly wide. I wanted to be sick. I slammed the door before either of them could say anything, and took off running down the hall. As I came around the corner, I could hear Tanya calling after me,

"Wait! Wait, please!"

I ignored her. There was nothing I could say or do now. I had wanted dirt on Tanya, some dirty little secret to soothe my feelings...I guess now I had one. Edward's wife was having an affair. Did I tell him? Should I tell him? Did this make it okay to get involved with Edward? And more importantly, how the fuck was I supposed to face him in class?

... ... ... ... . ... ... ... ...

Well, there you have it...should she tell him? Would you? I dunno. Judgement call. I don't think I would, especially since she doesn't know Edward well. Annnnyways...Review! Make my day! Also...favourite rainy day song? Mine (as indicated in the story) is Porcelain by Moby. It reminds me of being inside during a tropical storm at sunset. (:


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